Melodies on paper
by Cyrce Lives Again
Summary: Max's alter ego is the lead singer/violinist of a popular band. "Fang" is a internet sensation. Both are social outcasts in real life. What will happen- will worlds collide? Fax. Possibly some dark themes later on (hence the T rating). Alternating POV's- Max and Fang.
1. Chapter 1

**Max POV:**

The dressing room door shuts with a click and I sink down to the ground with an exhausted moan.

This double life is draining all my energy. Balancing my two identities is like trying to stand on the tip of a knife without falling off one side.

Yup. You read that right. 2 identities.

There is the normal hum drum me: Maxine Martinez- high school student not even recognized on the popularity totem pole, crappy grades, etc.

And then there is my stage personality: Maximum Ride. Lead singer/violinist for the popular alternative band "The Angel Experiment".

You may be asking how nobody notices this; it's because of my costume. When I am Maximum Ride, I wear a feathered mask that covers half my face and a set of fake wings.

Speaking of wings, I'm crushing mine right now. I get up with a groan, pull off said wings and drop them on the floor, and shuffle over to my dressing table. I sit down and rip off the horrible torture devices (high heels) the keyboardist for our band forced me to wear. She said it was because they made my legs look longer or some other crap like that. All I know is that they can_not_ be worth the pain.

The aforementioned keyboardist would be Nudge. Total fashionista and blabbermouth. She has lighting fast fingers on the board.

We also have Ella on the guitar and Maya on the drums.

I don't actually know my band members true identities and they don't know mine. "Ella" put up an ad on the internet: Apply with a video of you playing your instrument and some way to contact you- no other details required. If I like what you got, I'll let you know.

I obviously applied.

I don't know everybody's stories, but we all desire and revel in the anonymity of being members of "The Angel Experiment".

I look in my vanity mirror and sigh. Not that anyone would be looking to compare Maxine to Maximum. Like I said, I'm a total social outcast- the girl who sits in the back of the class, talks to nobody, and nobody talks to.

If only they knew… No. I have kept it secret for a reason. I can't go back to that. I can't tell anybody. I can't.

**Fang POV:**

Just a little more shading across the neck… and stronger lines; more movement in the hair.

There. Perfect.

I set down my drawing pad and stretch the kinks out of my fingers. Looking outside the window, I see that much more time has passed than I thought. I glance at the clock and find that it is 3:30 in the morning.

Mom is gonna kill me.

I peek furtively at my drawing pad.

Well… as long as I'm already in trouble…

I need to scan and upload this newest chapter to my online manga.

"Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports" is a manga I started years ago. I have kept it up and have had millions of views and reviews. I'm a bit of an internet sensation under my alias "Fang".

Not that you would know it looking at me. I look like a high school dropout.

I have the ratty jeans, black hoody, shaggy hair thing _down_.

Don't let my "look" fool you though. I am actually a whiz at math and a closet trending mangaka (re: millions of views).

Not that anyone but my best friend knows that, though.

To everyone at my high school I am seen as a total Loser.

Nicholas or Fang.

It doesn't matter to me- just as long as I can be near _her._

Her?

Maxine Martinez.

Max.

Killer at any sport. Athletic body. Sarcastic. Brilliant personality.

She doesn't even know I exist.

I am totally in love with her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Max POV:**

I shake off my unsettling thoughts and stand up- ignoring my aching feet as best I can.

I quickly shuck off the horrid dress that I was forced to wear by- you guessed it- Nudge.

With an exhale of relief I slide on my favorite pair of ripped up skinny jeans and some random band t shirt. Jeez, I hate dresses. They are just too… flowy. It's like everything down there is free. Totally disconcerting.

Looking around the room, I spot my beat up leather biker boots and jacket. I throw on my jacket, tug on my boots, grab my bag and violin case, and shove my "costume" into the wardrobe before walking out to the parking lot.

I locate my scratched up motorcycle and put my bag and violin case in the back compartment. Shoving my longish wild hair under the helmet, I straddle the bike. With a hope and a prayer I hit the ignition and to my utter relief it catches- Fiona is notoriously finicky.

Yes, I named my motorcycle.

Who wouldn't? This baby is like a friend to me. I bought her before the "incident" happened and I had to leave my old life behind.

She only starts up for me and even then it's a 50/50 chance.

That's alright with me though; I admire loyalty- even in inanimate objects.

I drive the 15 minutes or so until I get to my flat.

I pretty much live alone now. Sometimes I take in a stray for a couple days.

No mother that I know of and my dad is a piece of crap.

I ran away from home and more specifically from my dad about a year ago. I pretty much drove until I ran out of cash to buy more gas. I ended up in here in Denver and have been living here ever since. The first bit was tough- I had no money and I had no idea how I was gonna take care of myself.

For a while, I lived on the streets and ate with people's generosity and my meager wages from washing dishes at a local pub.

Ever since the band started to get popular, I have had enough money to rent an admittedly crappy flat, eat relatively well, buy some decent clothes from the thrift store, and most importantly: go to school.

Before I left my hometown, I got one of the shady guys from the smoking pit to forge me some fake identification. I am no longer Maxine Batchler, now I am Maxine Martinez.

The stuff he gave me must've been pretty good 'cuz I got into the school without a hitch.

I didn't miss much and it wasn't like I was good at school in the first place.

But, seeing how very few places will hire you without a GED _at least_ made up my mind.

I had to go to high school.

So I made it happen and I have been attending the high school near my house for the past 4 months.

I unlock and open the door to my apartment and dump all my stuff on my "crap table".

My apartment isn't really all that bad. I've made myself at home and it sure beats living on the streets.

In other words, I painted the walls in shades of dark blue, put in plush black carpet, and "soundproofed" my "music room".

By "music room" I mean the 1 bedroom the apartment has, and by "soundproofing" I mean draping blankets on the walls and nailing foam to the roof.

I just sleep on a mattress in the living room- it's not like anyone ever comes over anyways.

I have a bathroom with a wonderful claw foot bathtub with a detachable shower head thingy on a cord, a sink, and a toilet.

No kitchen. I can't cook worth crap anyways. (I have a microwave in my "bedroom")

I've spent most of my money on my music room: amps for my violin and some recording stuff.

All in all, it's probably 500 square feet tops.

It's not much, but it's enough for me.

I yawn and make my way sleepily over to my mattress where I immediately fall into a deep exhausted sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fang Pov:**

I throw my hand up and catch something behind my head.

I bring my hand down so that I can see what was dangerously close to beheading me a few seconds ago.

An apple.

Why would someone throw an apple at my head? Nobody hates me that much, do they?

I hear a snigger and I relax.

Oh. That's how it is.

I pretend that I am still confused, tense up my muscles, and look incredulously at the apple.

I turn around suddenly and chuck the apple.

Yes! Direct hit.

"Awww maaan!"

The unfortunate subject of my deadly aim is my best friend Iggy.

"What did you do that for?!" he screeches. "This is an expensive shirt, man."

I keep a straight face and say "You threw it first".

"True… but I didn't actually hit you."

"You meant to."

"Well, yeah. But I didn't. You gotta admit that was pretty good aim for a blind guy, right?"

I start walking away. While I don't mind and even enjoy Ig's crazy antics, I don't particularly enjoy having things thrown at my head.

Iggy starts to walk behind me "Ya know Nick, you need to loosen up a little. Build some bombs. Go out on a date. Ya know, with a _girl_? You spend too much time drawing. I mean, don't get me wrong, I think your drawings are great, but, it's like all you do, man. It's not healthy. You're a teenage guy. Go get some."

I keep walking. When did Iggy get to be such a blabbermouth? If only he could see the glares he's getting from all the girls. If he's gonna say sexist remarks, perhaps he shouldn't say them so loud, hmm?

To be honest, he's kinda annoying me too.

Why is it necessary to date girl after girl?

Why is it considered normal?

I just don't understand.

I look at my schedule.

It's free period, so I make my way to my favorite place in the whole school.

It's a reading nook way back in library amongst the section of 20 year old textbooks.

Nobody comes back here.

Why would they? According to these textbooks, Pluto is still a planet.

I settle myself and open my pad to a drawing of Max.

I just don't understand…

The only girl I've ever felt anything about is Max.

I don't need anyone else.

I don't even need to "get some".

I just want to be near her and have her like me.

I smile wryly.

Well, at least I'm halfway there, anyways.

I have to figure out a way to get to know her but every time I try to go talk to her, my mouth gets all dry and I turn into the emotionless rock.

At this point it is going to take a miracle to get us together.

I silently sigh, flip to a new page, and pick out a decent looking pencil out of my bag.

I start to draw the complicated patterns of my main character's wings.

My manga is about a government experiment gone rouge.

My main character- Molar- has a variety of powers. He can go invisible, has increased agility and healing, incredible eyesight, and is extremely cunning. Not to mention the wings of course.

He is neither good nor evil. He is complete neutrality. He metes out justice as he sees fit, killing men, women of all classes and ages.

He is kinda like who I wish I could be, but isn't that how it always happens? The author leaves a piece of him or herself behind in the story and picks up a piece along the way?


	4. Chapter 4

**Max Pov:**

I turn over in my bed and immediately fall onto the floor, dragging all my blankets with me.

I groan groggily and look at my watch.

10:15! Crap! I'm late for schoo-

Oh, yeah. It's Sunday.

I let myself fall back kinda sideways onto my mattress with my legs hanging off onto the floor.

Sundays are my only days to relax.

Between school and "The Angel Experiment", I don't have much free time.

I'm at school Monday-Friday from 6:30-1:30.

Then, every day I get home from school and do homework.

Not to mention band practice Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from 4-7. Sometimes later.

We also have a regular gig on Saturdays at "Nevermore"- an underground club that doesn't really care about "age restrictions".

So, yeah. Sundays.

I stand up and change out my PJs for sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt with some sort of company logo I've never heard of emblazoned on the front.

I shuffle over to my "kitchen" and pop an easy mac into the microwave for breakfast.

Once the little beeping thing beeps, I take out the cup- burning my fingers as I do so.

Ugh. I can't even use the microwave properly.

Shrugging, I take a big bite, probably burning off all my taste buds in the process.

Eh.

I finish up and put the empty container in my "dishwasher" a.k.a the trashcan.

I go over to my laptop, and start booting it up.

You might be like: Wait, wait, wait- back up. How can _you _afford a _laptop_?

Did you know that they sell laptops at goodwill?

Who knew?

People donate them because they are slow n' stuff.

Mine works great. It just takes a while to start it up. Once you have it booted up, though, it works perfect.

I donno why someone got rid of it.

Idiot.

Oh well, better for me anyways.

I usually spend most of my Sundays goofing off on my violin and reading manga on the internet.

I've been reading one recently that I've really gotten into.

It's by this guy named "Fang" and it's called "Saving the World and- Oh! New chapters! Yes!

I eagerly click on the link and start reading.

No way!

The woman Molar loves turns out to be evil and he has to kill her?

Seriously? Poor Molar.

What I wouldn't give to meet this "Fang" guy. He's a genius and his drawings are so detailed.

He conveys motion and feeling and everything just _flows_.

I wish I could draw like that.

I quickly type a type out a glowing review and shut my laptop.

I make my way to my music room snagging my IPod along the way.

And before you ask, _no_ I didn't get my IPod at Goodwill.

I've had it for years. It's one of those old IPod classics.

Indestructible with practically unlimited space- I have it loaded up with thousands of my favorite songs.

I love it.

One of my favorite things to do is plug my IPod into my amps and play along with the music. In these moments I am part of Apopalyptica, Evanescence, Bond- any and all bands with violin parts.

It's an amazing feeling. I only wish that I can be as good as these bands someday. It's my dream. It is my sincerest belief that nothing could be better than playing the violin and singing all day.

I'm not on that level yet.

But, I swear that I will be someday- nothing will stop me from fulfilling my dream, not even my past.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N_

_I'd like to thank everybody who has been fave-ing, following, and most importantly- reviewing my stories. It really means a lot. I love to hear your feedback. I check my email constantly for alerts that someone has said something about my story. So, yeah, THANK YOU SO MUCH! Please continue reading. _

_Other: _

_FaximumEverdeen: Yes, I did see your strange cookie with green sunglasses. O.o Heh. Thanks for the frequent reviews._

_xXxScars Still ShowxXx: Thank you for clicking every single button that you possibly could. ;)_

_I generally write short chapters- but I update several times a week. Please be patient. :P_

_Feel free to PM me if you have suggestions, comments, or whatever._

_And… PLEASE REVIEW!_

_Without further ado:_

**Max POV:**

I pull into the school parking lot and park my bike in the first empty spot I find.

Why the heck does school have to start at oh-dark-thirty anyways?

Oh, that's right.

Cuz it's evil.

Anything that starts before 10 o'clock in the morning that doesn't have something to do with the violin is fundamentally evil.

Hence, school is evil.

I take off my bike jacket and helmet then pull my coffee from my handy dandy cup holder. I keep it in a thermos with a screw on lid so that it doesn't spill all over all my crap.

I used to absolutely hate coffee; I thought it tasted like burnt nothing. I started drinking it after I started living on my own. I get so darned exhausted. In my opinion, coffee is the best way to consistently drink caffeine all day long that doesn't involve energy drinks. I hate energy drinks. They taste like carbonated plastic. When it's a choice between carbonated plastic and burnt nothing, I'll always choose the burnt nothing. Of course, my ideal caffeinated beverage of choice would be a nice can of Coke, but when I saw how much it would cost to keep me adequately caffeinated, I opted for the coffee.

Slinging my messenger back over my shoulder, I close up the compartment, lock it, and walk towards the school.

I reach the heavy double doors and pull one open and tread down the never-ending dreary hallways until I reach homeroom.

I open the door and sigh inwardly.

Time for an hour of hell.

I slink into the classroom and sit in a corner seat in the back row hoping that she doesn't notice me.

I put in my earphones only to have them ripped out seconds later.

I glare up to see Dylan's smiling face.

Well, she noticed me.

"Oops, sorry _Maxie_." She says in a sickly sweet voice before sauntering over to her seat next to her group of male admirers.

This type of thing has been going on ever since I started here at Zephyr High school (referred to as "The School" due to the fact that nobody can pronounce it).

Not that it is really all that hurtful, but it does get annoying.

Like a fly buzzing in your ear incessantly.

She doesn't know that I'm in "The Angel Experiment", which I find laughable because she also sings at "Nevermore".

She's not and awful singer, really, it's just a disgusting act- lots of gyrating, booty shaking, and boob thrusting.

She hates me as both Maxine and Maximum and she still hasn't put it together that we are the same person.

Idiot.

The School is pretty normal on all counts: stained ceilings, lockers that stick, teenagers of all styles and sizes. The teaches are mostly demoralized and don't give a crap with the exception of the teachers right out of college who are full of energy and passion- they haven't been subjugated to unruly, sarcastic teenagers for years on too little pay, yet. The cafeteria lunches taste like dog poop and often look like something pulled out of a shower drain.

So, yeah. Normal.

Like I said, I'm in this for the GED. I just need to hold on for a little over a year, so the crappy lunches, annoying female dogs, boring classes etc. don't really borrow me all that much.

I put my headphones back on and turn up my music.

**Fang POV:**

High point of my life: Max is in my homeroom.

Low point: She always sits in the back- I don't have eyes in the back of my frickin' head!

There's no way that I can look at her without being totally obvious.

Devastating.

I'd try a mirror, but then she might think I'm a narcissist.

I don't want her to think that.

Maybe I could like rig up a video cam- No. Too stalkerish. Waaay too stalkerish.

I bang my head into my desk, eliciting a couple strange looks from my seat mates.

Whatever.

I put on a tight t-shirt this morning hoping to woo max with my abs, but I got peanut butter all over it while I was eating breakfast, so, it's a hoody and jeans as normal.

I'll never get noticed at this point.

My cell phone buzzes loudly.

It's a text from Iggy. (He has voice recognition on his phone)

*_Hey, man. Come with me this Saturday night. I'm going to some bar the guys told me have hot girls in animal costumes. Come on, man. Be my wingman.*_

I smirk and text ***Why the heck would you care if they are dressed in animal costumes or not? It's not like you can see them anyways.***

_*Because they are hot! C'mon! I hear the music is pretty good- you like music.*_

Music? ***What bar is it?***

_*Lemme ask.*_

…

_*Some place called "Nevermore". I'm begging ya, Nick. Come with.*_

I guess I don't have anything going on Saturday- and I need something to get my pathetic-ness about the whole Max deal off my mind.

***..Fine.***

_*Yes! You won't regret it, man! Pick me up at 7, okay? See you at lunch!*_

Jeez. He really sounds like a girl sometimes.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N**_

_Thanks again for the continuing reviews everyone. Warms my heart- really._

_ HELP_

_Uh… I donno. ExpelliarmusAndOtherExtremeS pells? MaximumJacksonAndWhitman'sStone? Some random name from any of your favorite books? Hope this helps. I'm not very good at thinking up usernames. In fact, I frequently use isuckatusernames as my username_ _(not on this site)._

**Max POV:**

I push my streaky brown hair out of my eyes with a huff.

It's high time for a haircut, but I lost my scissors a while back.

So, here I am at Wal-Mart© to get a new pair.

I try to avoid shopping if it doesn't involve food or music, so this is really annoying me.

Not to mention the fact that I'm a magnet for weirdos- and what place has more weirdos than Wal-Mart©?

I would just use my knife, but, last time I tried to cut my hair with my knife, I cut my forehead up pretty bad.

I mean, the scar looks awesome- like I got into a knife fight with a ninja, but that's not the point.

Point is: I need scissors.

Where can I buy scissors?

Well, lots of places, but Wal-Mart© is cheap.

As I walk down the aisles looking for scissors, I spot the new Wal-Mart© logo.

I _liked_ the old logo.

I mean, who doesn't like smiley faces? _And_ the used to hand out smiley face stickers when you walked in the door.

Now, it's this weird spikey thing. What the heck is it anyways? A star?

I don't know.

Maybe they had a reason- it's not like I follow Wal-Mart's© every move.

I look up from my musings and turn pale.

_Somehow_ I wandered into the condom and feminine hygiene aisle.

Why do they stick those two things together? One product is for women and the other product is men.

Maybe they expect women to buy their own protection.

Chauvinists.

I read the labels with a sort of fascinated disgust.

Heating and cooling sensations? Glow in the dark? Textured?

What the h-e-double frickin' hockey sticks!?

What pervert thought up of these things?

I look up and see some dark haired guy I recognize from school giving me a weird look.

…

…

I speed-walk away and blush uncontrollably.

…That wasn't awkward at all, was it? Of course not…

I don't know what's wrong with me.

Why was that guy here anyways? Is Wal-Mart© really that popular with the afterschool crowd?

I finally locate the crafty-person aisle and grab a sturdy looking pair of scissors.

I start walking to the checkout, but do an abrupt about face.

I'm hungry- why not get some food? Maybe that will help improve my mood.

I stride into the junk food aisle and my jaw drops in awestruck wonder.

So. Many. Kinds. Of. **CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES**!

I spend the next 20 minutes reading over _all_ the packages before grabbing 5 of the yummiest looking packs.

Then I quickly go through self-checkout (Wal-Mart© employees creep me out. Re: weirdos) and ride home to stuff my face with cookies and do homework.

**Fang POV:**

Oh. My. _Lawd_.

What the- what. WHAT!?

Max?

Condoms?

Max _looking _at condoms?

Why would she be looking at condoms!?

Is she seeing somebody?

Or even worse… doing _that _with somebody?

Why wouldn't she be? She's gorgeous!

I just hoped she wasn't, I guess. I thought that maybe she-

No.

I'm just jealous.

Eurgh.

It's bad enough that Mom made me stop at Wal-Mart© on my way home from school to get her some _feminine hygiene_ _products_. I mean, who, ever wants to buy their mom that type of thing?

To make things worse, Max…

Snap out of it, Nick.

She didn't buy any of them.

Maybe she was just looking?

Nah.

Who stands and looks at condoms?

Perverts.

Max isn't a pervert, right?

Right.

I'm pitiful.

Any guy who thought the word "condom" as many times I have in the last 2 minutes is a pervert.

I'm a Pitiful Pervert.

P².

Gah.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**

_New chapter! Yay! Sorry for the __small__ delay. I probably won't ever write on Saturdays. I have off college and I just wanna chill on my day off, ya know? Plus, I might have been stalling until I hit 25 reviews, but you didn't hear that from __me__. Speaking of reviews, thank you all for your continuing reviews- I hope that you will keep telling me your thoughts. Anyways, have a nice day/night/morning and please enjoy!_

**Fang POV:**

I grab a Coke and a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge and head up to my room.

Setting everything down on the side table next to my lazy-boy, I plug my IPod into my speaker system.

An instrumental version of "Smells like Teen Spirit" starts playing and I allow myself a tiny smile.

Despite my appearance, I don't really listen to a lot of emo music. I mean, _yeah_, I listen to it every now and then, but really, what teenager doesn't? Mostly, I listen to instrumental versions of various songs (sometimes I just need to be away from _words)_, and alternative music.

Other than my angst over Max, my life isn't all that bad.

I have a house, food to eat, an awesome room, and a mom.

Not bad.

Just in case you were wondering, _no_ my room isn't black.

Well, not completely.

My carpet is black.

My walls are maroon for the most part- one of them is painted with that blackboard stuff so I can work out math problems.

As far as furniture goes, I have a black lazy boy, a comfy plaid couch, a bookshelf filled up with manga and math textbooks, a small table, a desk, and a sophisticated sound system.

You may have noticed that my description did not include a bed. I don't have one. I usually fall asleep in my lazy-boy- sometimes I sleep on my couch if I want to stretch out.

I settle into said lazy-boy, pop open my Coke, and open my laptop to a graphing program.

I like to unwind by plugging in the coordinates for fun and odd shapes into online graphing calculators.

For example:

2*sqrt(-abs(abs(x)-1)*abs(3-abs(x))/((abs(x)-1)*(3-abs(x))))(1+abs(abs(x)-3)/(abs(x)-3))sqrt(1-(x/7)^2)+(5+0.97(abs(x-.5)+abs(x+.5))-3(abs(x-.75)+abs(x+.75)))(1+abs(1-abs(x))/(1-abs(x))),-3sqrt(1-(x/7)^2)sqrt(abs(abs(x)-4)/(abs(x)-4)),abs(x/2)-0.0913722(x^2)-3+sqrt(1-(abs(abs(x)-2)-1)^2),(2.71052+(1.5-.5abs(x))-1.35526sqrt(4-(abs(x)-1)^2))sqrt(abs(abs(x)-1)/(abs(x)-1))+0.9

Don't judge me.

Seriously, Google it.

I savor my cold pizza- In my opinion, cold pizza and Coke is the meal of the gods.

I'm actually kinda looking forward to Saturday night.

I could use a night out, and, from what I hear, the main band is pretty good. I don't remember the name. Something to do with Angels.

Eh.

Wish I could take Max. But, that would involve actually _talking _to the woman- rather than just staring at her in a variety of places.

Wait. That sounded wrong.

Not staring at her _body _in different places, staring at her in different _places_.

Not that I don't look at her body- I _am_ a teenage boy.

You know what? Nevermind. Forget I thought it in the first place.

**Max POV:**

I bring my bow back slowly one last time as we finish up the last song in our set.

I smile contentedly and listen to Nudge chattering as I pack up my violin.

"ZOMG, that was, like, so awesome. We are gonna be so uh-mazing this Saturday. I mean, I know we do it _every_ Saturday, but this Saturday, we are going to be extra-good. Dylan's goin' _down_. D-O-W-N. OH! And Max! I really like your new haircut! Where did you get it done? I wish I had straight hair like you! MY hair is such a pain to deal with in the morning! It takes like an hour and half just to keep it from sticking up like I've been struck by lightning. But, you! I bet you don't do _anything_, do you?"

Was that seriously all one breath? This girl has got some lungs on her.

"I cut it myself, and, uh, I comb it?"

"That's it!? No fair! But anyways, I like your hair. It's got those bangy things that all a bunch of different lengths and it just look soooo good on you! I can't believe you did it yourself! Did you really do it yourself?"

I nod.

"That is so awesome! Well, I just got a text from my boyfriend! I gotta go! Younger men are sooo impatient, ya know? Toodles, Maxie! See ya Saturday!"

She runs off before I can correct her.

It's just Max.

Nobody calls me Maxie- not since…

I shake my head.

I didn't know she has a boyfriend.

But then again, I don't really know much about anyone in the band. It's part of the appeal.

Sometimes I wonder what having a boyfriend would be like, though. Having someone who loves you for who you are and you can trust without reserve.

It's such a foreign concept to me- trust.

Will I ever be able to trust anyone again?


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**

_Please don't kill me! I forgot to update- I was just so darned busy. Blame my history teacher- that heifer. Here is a little bit of filler- I think I'll make you guys wait a little bit more before the big event, eh?_

**Max POV:**

Okay.

Confession.

I have _one _friend.

Her name is J.J.

She eats lunch with me and talks about cute boys.

That's it.

It may not sound like much to you, but it's a big deal for me- having someone at school talk to me.

When everyone ignores you because of your thrift store clothes, crappy grades, and lack of social grace-you learn to accept what you can get.

Why do I even bring this up?

Well, J.J. has been stuck on this one guy _con-stant-ly _for the last 2 weeks.

Like I care that he has a perfect tan.

And ebony hair that flops attractively over his dark obsidian eyes.

And has a chiseled six pack that she just _happened _to see.

And has a voice like deep dark chocolate being drizzled over your very _soul_.

Yada, yada, yada.

Whatever.

I mean, I'm grateful that she talks to me- but why is it _always _about boys?

You could not choose a topic I know less about even if you sent my brain up to aliens to be autopsied.

As far as I am concerned, they are all male.

I study her bubbly face and decide to try to change the subject for once.

"So… "

She stops talking and looks at me in surprise. Our relationship usually goes like this: J.J talks- Max listens.

"Uh, well…"

She's looking at me expectantly. Oh crap! What the heck was I gonna say?

I don't remember!

Shoot!

Say something fast!

"What's your opinion on glow-in-the-dark condoms?" I blurt out.

…

..

.

AHHHHHHH!  
What the crap did I just say!?

I did not just say that- did I?

I peek up at J.J. and wince.

Yup, judging by the look on her face, I _definitely _just said that.

My cheeks are burning- I could probably cook a hot dog on them.

Can I please go die in a pit of my own refuse now?

I hear a noise like a pig dying and I look up in confusion.

Hmm.

It seems like J.J. is choking on a tater tot.

Wait-

J.J's CHOKING ON A TATER TOT!

I jump up and recall my emergency training- I give her the Heimlich.

The tater tot shoots out of her mouth and soars across the cafeteria, landing smack dab in the middle of Dylan's salad.

Dylan stares at the tater tot for a full 4 seconds before glaring at us with intense hate.

The no longer choking J.J. and I rush out of the cafeteria before she can confront us and flop onto the grass giggling.

Wait up- the great immovable, emotionless Max _giggling_?

Has Hell frozen over and the apocalypse come to claim our immortal souls?

J.J. gets ahold of herself and gasps out "Wow, Max, I never knew you had it in you." before bursting out laughing.

I snicker and wheeze "No, I never knew you had it in _you_."

"T-t- Tater tot!"

Suffice it to say, we both were in hysterics for nearly an hour.

Somehow, I think this experience turned out unexpectedly good.

Who woulda thunk that choking, condoms, and tater tots could've deepened my friendship with someone?


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N**_

_*shifty eyes* I.. I have no excuses. Here is a chapter._

**Fang POV:**

I lean on the horn.

Jeez. He says pick 'im up at 7. It's 7:03. Where the heck is he?

Sighing, I turn off my car and walk up to Iggy's door and hit the bell.

And hit it again.

And again.

I go to hit it again, but the door swings open- revealing a half-naked Iggy with wicked bed head.

"WHAT!?"

"Hey, Ig."

"Hey, Ig? HEY, IG!? That's all you have to frickin' say after frickin' ringing my doorbell over and over like a frickin' 2 year old?!"

Wow. That's a lot of fricks.

"You're late."

"It's 6:05! I said 7, you idiot!"

"No, it's 7:05."

"6:05"

"7:05"

"6:05! See! Look at my watch!"

Hmmm.

"While I agree that _your _watch says 6:05, it is still 7:05, and you are late. Did you, oh I donno, remember the _time change_?"

"Time change?"

"Mhmmm."

"Oh."

…

"Let me fix my hair, I'll be right out. Wait in the car."

Whatever. He has to fix his hair? Seriously? Someone needs to revoke his man card.

Not that having sexy hair is a bad thing.

For example, girls seem to think that _I _have some damn sexy hair.

Or so they've told me.

Girls annoy me. They are always like, "Oh Fangy-poo, your eyelashes are like so looong. And your eyes! They like are like Edward's when he is hungry. *swoon*"

Gag. Maybe having sexy hair _is _a bad thing.

Like I wanna be like that sparkly fairy.

Now, Max.

That's a whole different ballpark.

Max is a _woman_.

A woman who could kick my butt if she ever knew I thought of her as a woman.

I wonder if she-

Iggy jumps into the car.

Seriously, he _jumped_- just like in everybody always does in movies made in the 80's.

"Not cool man. Just cuz my car's a convertible, _does not _mean that you can treat her like that. Knowing you, you could have broken my windshield."

"Dude, that was _one _time! Let. It. Go."

I pull out of the driveway only to realize that I have no idea where I am going.

"Hey, Ig, where is this place anyways?"

"Uh… lemmee see."

He pulls out his new Iphone 5- I have no idea where he gets the money to maintain his lifestyle and I don't want to know.

"Siri."

"Yes, Master Iggy?"

"Directions from P. Sherman Wallaby Way Syd-"

I cut him off, "Stop screwing around and get the stupid directions."

He sticks his lip out and pouts, "Fine. Siri?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Directions from "42 Skrill Avenue, Denver Colorado" to "Nevermore Club, Denver Colorado" please."

"Compiling… directions completed."

"Thank you Siri."

"Anything for you Sunshine."

Rolling my eyes, I follow the directions generated by Iggy's digital girlfriend.

Speaking of digital girlfriends, you would not believe the number of proposals I have gotten through the comment section on "Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports".

Take a guess.

53.

Fifty-three _marriage _proposals.

42 of them were women.

I can assure you that I do _not _swing in the direction of the other eleven.

Man, I hope tonight won't be total bummer- I really need to post a new chapter, but I'm blowing it off to go out tonight.

Iggy better hope I have a good time, or one of these days he's gonna wake up as a eunuch.

What?

I never said I don't hold grudges.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/n:**

_Uh, um. … *scratches neck and looks away*_

…

_I'M SORRY! I THOUGHT I HAD POSTED YESTERDAY AND IT'S BEEN ALMOST A WEEK!_

_Ehhem._

_I just needed to get that off my chest, as you can see; I am a bit of a ditz. (o.o) Sorry._

_Please enjoy and review. :)_

* * *

**Max POV:**

I bob my head to the pounding bass streaming through my headphones as I shimmy into the "required dress" for tonight as dictated by Nudge.

I refer to the letter she wrote out for me.

_Max,_

_Wear and do these things please. _

_Put on a pair of black patterned cutout tights. (Any of the patterns you have are okay)_

_Put on that darling envy green dress that kinda flows down the back of your legs with the black bust (remember to wear a strapless bra or the bustier… you know what? Nevermind. Just wear the bustier.). _

_I guess you can wear your combat boots… IF THEY ARE POLISHED! I really would like you to wear the peep toe pumps I got you though…_

_Put you head in between your legs and shake and comb your hair out._

_Then take that teaser thingy I gave you and make your hair wild._

_Outline your eyes heavily with black eyeliner with gold in the corners._

_Put on your mask._

_Take that deep red lip stain I got you and apply a layer. Blot it off. Repeat._

_Put on your wings._

_Apply a small amount of that gold glitter dust that I got you for your birthday on your shoulders, neck, and arms._

_Spritz whatever body spray you like._

_And you are good girly._

_ Lookin' fab._

_See ya soon. :P,_

_Nudge _

Jeez.

It's like she thinks I can't dress myself.

I mean what the heck is wrong with jeans, combat boots, a band tee, and a leather jacket?

I think I look the same either way.

Just more Dylan-ish in this slut-fit.

Okay, so it's not that bad.

But, **still**.

Have I mentioned how much I frickin' hate dresses?

I have?

Fine.

I hate 'em.

Ehh, at least she let me wear tights and my combat boots.

I hate parting with my combat boots. I get nervous without them.

So many memories…

Kicking unruly guys where the sun don't shine.

Walking on ice without falling due to their superior tread.

TPing the guy's locker room. (shhh)

Ahhh.

Our relationship has been tight ever since we got through those first rough couple o' weeks.

Bah and Zing are some of the only items I have bought at retail selling price.

It's the only way really.

I mean, combat boots from the thrift store are o-kay, but the bond between owner and shoes just doesn't happen the same way.

With a brand spankin' new pair of boots, you have to break them in.

You have to endure weeks of bruises across the tops of your feet and wicked blisters before the boots finally give into you and mold to the exact shape of your feet- giving you the most comfortable pair of shoes you could ever wear.

I smirk.

Now who said I wasn't girly? I just monologued about shoes in my head for several minutes.

Must have been something in that kool-aid I grabbed out of the shared fridge earlier.

Oh well.

I skim over the list again and my eyes just about bug out.

The bustier!? What bustier?

The color drains out of my face and I search through the drawers frantically.

She took all my bras.

And left **that**.

I'm gonna kill you when I get out of here, Nudge!

It's not like I can just wear the bra I've been wearing- it's a sports bra.

I can't wear a sports bra with a strapless dress.

Forget about killing Nudge, **Nudge** would kill **me.**

Sigh.

At least it looks like it has a zipper and buttons up the front instead of laces up the back.

I don't think that I could've laced it.

I slide the dress off my torso and put the infernal thing on.

Dammit Nudge.

…

I finish up my make-up (Gahck!), grab my violin and stride out of my dressing room.

I happen to glance at the clock and break into a sprint, grateful once again for my boots.

I took longer getting ready than I thought.

We are on in 2 minutes!

Crap.

I skid backstage just as the announcer starts to, well, _announce_ us.

The band gives a relieved sigh and Nudge gives me a once over.

She nods.

Whew.

The guy is signaling.

3.

2.

1.

Showtime.


	11. Chapter 11

**Fang Pov:**

I sit at the bar listlessly.

Jeez.

These people suck. So far all the "bands" I've seen are aging women trying to hold onto their youth in skimpy costumes and teeny boppers, also in skimpy costumes. Not a speck of talent.

Not only that, but Ig has already scored and disappeared to god knows where.

I pull my sketchbook out of my satchel with a feeling of intense relief and start to draw. I would just leave- I mean I drove here in _my_ car, but, the guilt over leaving my _blind _friend all alone in a club would be too much for me to handle.

Not that he couldn't find a ride…

I'm sure there are plenty of women here with a blind guy fetish that would be more than willing to, er, _take him home_.

Hmm…

Maybe I better stay after all so that he doesn't get abducted.

As I slouch down in the surprisingly comfortable barstool, I resign myself to a night of drawing in a dimly lit bar with crappy music- drinking watered down Coke.

Sigh.

I draw until I can block out the dismal world around me.

I am in a world of ink, graphite, and lead.

Of lines and silent dialogue.

A world of fantasy and all too convincing reality that is made of dreams, despair, and hope.

A place where I can express my feelings in a way that I never could through words.

Filled with laughter, tears, and gritted teeth.

A place where you can hear… music?

I hear music..?

Slowly reality bleeds in.

Bewildered, I raise my head as the melody dances its way through my ears into my heart.

Somehow, it feels familiar- this music.

I focus my attention on the stage and let the music wash over me.

The band on stage is darkly lit with dramatic birdlike costumes.

Vitality and beauty seem to pour from their instruments in the form of pure sound.

Could this be… The Angel Experiment?

I scan the musicians.

The keyboardist is full of a kind of ecstatic energy, the drummer has a killer intensity, the guitarist has wicked skills, and the violinist/singer is …

Full of passion and her love for the music is evident in every square inch of her athletic body from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes.

The way her golden brown streaked hair is thrown halfheartedly behind her so as not to get in the way of the connection with her instrument makes my chest ache in that way only Max can cause…

Max?

I look up sharply and gasp.

Max!?

**Max Pov:**

As soon as the first note is played, I lose myself to the music.

How is that someone such as me can play something as beautiful as this?

Soiled as I am with the past?

I shake off my painful memories as best I can and immerse myself fully.

I let my thoughts fly away one by one until all that is left is the violin and my voice.

The violin and my voice.

The violin…

…and my voice.

Notes pour from my heart and leave my body through my fingertips whilst melodies and harmonies spring from my mouth joyously.

Sometime in the midst of happiness, I look up.

I am entranced by twin pools of comforting darkness and I play solely for them.

I pull my bow back a final time and my thoughts come racing back on waves of applause.

With a vague smile, I accept the praise and search the crowd for those eyes that so enchanted me.

I am herded unceremoniously off the stage by my band mates.

Angel gives me a weird look as she brushes past me, but I barely notice as I hurry back to my dressing room to change hastily.

Questions whiz through my head as I tear off the ridiculous costume and slip into sweats and a faded t-shirt. Who was that boy? Why did he seem so familiar?

Still half dazed by music and by those deep mysterious eyes, I distractedly drive home- running 2 red lights, a stop sign, and nearly bowling into an old lady crossing the street.

Once I finally make it to my apartment and I flop down on my mattress, too exhausted to even change out of my clothes, one last question crosses my mind: What if he finds out who I really am?


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N_

_I really have no excuse. I will simply say I am sorry and that I hope I still have some readers who are willing to read my story. I will write when possible and when inspired. Please enjoy._

**Max POV:**

I roll over groggily in my bed, crack my eyes open, and squint at my watch.

11:45

Half the day slept away.

Not that it matters—I've already done what little homework my teachers assigned me, though I doubt I could have concentrated on it if I _did _have anything left to do.

Those _eyes_.

There was an almost dreamlike quality about them—intense and almost harsh, but when you looked at them, you caught something that hinted at softness, however improbable.

Ugh.

Here I am waxing poetic about some random person's eyes.

I don't even know the _gender _of the face those eyes were in—I was so captivated that I didn't register the rest of his/her body.

It's completely useless to fixate on them, right?

I've got better things to do on my day off than worry.

It's not like I'll ever see them again.

I sit up with a groan.

Looking down at myself, I see I failed to change out of my clothes before going to bed.

The dress I wore last night is tangled amongst the sheets and my tights have tears in them.

No wonder I am so stiff—I must look like hell.

I start to systematically strip off my clothes as I stumble to my bathroom and turn the hot water knob thingy as hot as it will go.

I sink into the hot water and let my hair float up above me.

It's so peaceful underwater, everything just makes sense- and what doesn't make sense, I cease to care about.

My mind drifts again to last night where I last saw those eyes and I come to simple conclusion.

I want to see those eyes again, however irrational it might be.

**Fang POV:**

I scribble furiously into my notepad trying to record what I saw last night.

To get every last detail down to the number of feathers on her wings.

I am surrounded by ripped and crushed balls of paper—the rotten fruit of my nightlong labor. None of them drawn perfectly correct.

That _was _Max last night, wasn't it?

It seems hard to deny as I look through all my drawings.

As an artist, it is very important to have an eye for size and measurement.

Very few people are the _exact _size and shape as another person.

I mean, it _is_ possible, but as I carve the outline of Maximum's body into the paper it is obvious that Max and Maximum _are _exactly identical in size and shape.

I've drawn Max enough times to know her shape with my eyes closed—however pervy that might seem.

There are other indicators too: Maxine - Max - Maximum. I mean, _come on_, that can't be a coincidence.

And the way she seemed to stare at me throughout the whole set. Almost like… she recognized me? Maybe?

I rub at my bloodshot eyes in irritation.

I wasn't able to confirm it was her last night.

I shoved through the crowd and managed to get backstage but she wasn't there.

It was like she disappeared.

Then the bouncers caught me and I was banned from ever stepping foot inside _Nevermore _again.

So, if I am going to confront Max about it, the only place left is school.

_If _I confront her.

I mean is it really my business what she does in her free time whether it involves condoms or moonlighting in a band?

It's just that… she was so _enchanting_.

The whole night I sat at that bar in a haze of gray and nothing seemed to touch me on a spiritual level.

But the moment her mouth opened and that first note came out, my whole body seized in anticipation.

The emotion she put into singing and the skill she portrayed with her violin quite simply took my breath away.

It was like a siren song, stroking the very parts of my soul that were begging to be stroked.

It made her even more beautiful.

Almost unearthly.

I finish my sketch with the memory of the feelings she instilled in me and as I look down upon it, I make my decision.

I will confront Max. Even if it takes all the courage in my body possesses and I pee my pants. This will not be the last time I hear her music.


	13. Chapter 13

**Fang POV:**

I try to take my mind off things by sketching some ideas for the next issue of Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports.

Darn it.

Stupid "Teacher Work Days".

Usually I would be elated to be able to laze around in my boxers* drawing and drinking coffee but I thought I had plans today.

Here I was all pumped up.

I was gonna talk to her.

I _decided_.

I got up at 5 in the frickin' morning to prepare myself. And when I finally got ahold of my nerves and picked out a "cool but not trying to hard outfit", what do I get? My mom confused as heck as to why I am up and dressed so early on a day off.

It's like she thinks I never make an effort to look nice…

You know what? Never mind about that.

I mean, what exactly are teacher work days anyways? Is it like some super-secret training session on how to most effectively bore young teenagers into a possibly deadly coma?

Eugh.

I'm dragging. Is there really such a thing as a "morning person"? Is it possible? Who would be happy about getting up at this hellish hour?

I set down my drawing pad without looking at it and get up out of my lazy boy while I try to locate my prey within the mess that is my room. Usually, I'm more organized, but, you see, I've had a lot on my mind…

Okay, that was a lie.

My room can generally be described as a "pigsty". There are just so many things that are more important than cleaning my room. It's a waste of time. Besides, I usually know where my stuff is…

Speaking of, where is it…?

Ah! There it is!

I break out in an uncharacteristically huge smile as I dislodge the object of my attention: my coffee brewer.

Yay.

In my opinion, a morning does not "get goin'" 'til at least the 3rd cup o' joe.

I have a lovely selection of coffee blends, grounds, and beans that I store under my couch for occasions just as these.

What type of mood am I in? Hipster? Mountain manly man? Girly skinny jean boy?

Hmm… Decisions decisions…

I decide to go for "simple but effective" and pluck my custom blend of "Fang's Morning Mojo" out of the box and get Louie percolating.

Did you know that "percolating" is what coffee brewers like Louie do? I just found out recently and now I use the word "percolating" every chance I get.

Percolating. Percolating. Percolatingpercolatingpercolatingpercolate.

Sorry. Just had to get that out of my system.

Also, you may be wondering about "Louie".

Well, you see, I named my coffee brewer because of how long we've been together. We go way back. He's like family at this point. I got him at a yard sale when I was 7. Poor Louie was sold for a buck fifty. Horrible, really. I've put efforts into integrating him into my family and have been cultivating my caffeine habit ever since. So, you see, it would be weird if I _didn't _name him.

I grab a semi clean mug off my floor and fill it up to the brim before retreating back to my lazy boy and taking a long draw.

Ahhhhh.

That hits the spot, man.

I drink a couple more cups, and when I am satisfactorily caffeinated I pick my drawing pad up off the floor before collapsing onto my couch to review what I've drawn so far.

I open my drawing pad and blink in mild shock.

Somehow, I unconsciously drew Maximum and Molar side by side.

Hmm.

They look surprisingly nice together. Like they are meant to be together—not just the wings but something in the way they stand and in their gazes.

I've been feeling that my manga has been missing something lately, maybe… it was this?

I sit up hurriedly, grab a pencil, and start to sketch wildly.

The drawings and plot flow out of my pencil onto the paper effortlessly. Somehow, it just seems… _right_.

* * *

*I just can't see Fang as a briefs guy. He seems like a boxers guy all the way.

**A/n: jacksonpotterridefan101—how's that?**

**+I would like to thank all of my reviewers. You all give me confidence where I am sometimes lacking. I will try to continue writing this story in a way that will satisfy you all. *bows***


	14. Chapter 14

**Max POV:**

I rest my head on my desk in my typical post gig drain/Monday morning funk and groan to myself.

I stayed up waaaay too late last night. I was composing a new song inspired by none other than the mysterious eyes.

It's pretty damn good if I do say so myself, but, by the time I got it to a point where I felt comfortable stopping it was like 3a.m. On a school night that is pretty much a death sentence.

Oh well.

It was totally worth it- helped me get over the bit of writer's block I've been having.

I am soooo looking forward to a nap after school before band practice.

I yawn and listen to the simply melody of shuffling feet, creaking doors, and murmuring voices.

The door opens.

Footsteps.

Footsteps heading towards… me?

That's odd. All the usual back row suspects are already accounted for and present.

The footsteps stop.

Someone takes a breath.

"Max... Or should I say Maximum?"

Crap.

…

I open my eyes and look right into those enigmatic eyes I've been dreaming of for days.

My mind blanks…

**Fang POV:**

Max opens her beautiful brown doe eyes and looks straight at me.

Shivers run up my spine. The hair on my arms stands straight up. My legs feel like jelly.

I can't let on that I feel like this- she'll think I'm a wimp.

I stare back at her coolly.

"I'm right, aren't I? It's Maximum."

"I don't know what you're talking about?" she says with a confused face I a cutesy voice"Max is short for Maxine? Not Maximum. Where'd you get that idea?"

That act ain't fooling me. Time to get serious.

"I'm not mistaken, Max. I was at Nevermore. I _saw_ you. It wouldn't be that hard to prove. Now this can stay our little secret…"

The confused face drops and is replaced by a scowl.

"What? What the heck do you want?"

Ack. She's so cute when she's angry! No! - Keep it cool, Nick.

"Now, now. Don't act like that. My offer would actually benefit you…"

She suspiciously gives me a _go on_ look.

"I've noticed your math grades have been, well, how to put it- abysmal- lately."

"Hey! I-"

"Shhh. I would simply like to offer my services as a math tutor to you in exchange for keeping your secret… it's a win-win for you, really."

She snorts derisively. "Why the crap would you do that? And I doubt _you _could help me anyways."

"Because, my dear Max, you intrigue me. I have the oddest urge to help you."

She scoffs.

"Oh, and by the way, I have never gotten less than a 100% in math. Think about it. Give me a call." I call as I stroll to the front of the class.

I sit down in my seat and don't look back.

Well.

That was possibly the hardest thing I've ever done. I wonder if I was cool. I hope she calls…

Eugh. Who am I kidding?

She'll probably ignore me.

Ah! What type of nerd offers to tutor the girl he likes?

I'm such a dork.

**Max POV:**

I sit under my favorite tree and eat my lunch.

I'm not eating with JJ today. I needed some alone time to think about that jerk wad.

What does he mean give me a call?

Like _I'm _supposed to just listen to _him_?

Puh-lease.

You know what's even more annoying?

Somehow he even wrote his number on my hand- _without me noticing_. What the frick!?

On one hand, I don't want to give in to that pretentious butthead.

On the other… I'm scared that everyone will find out about Maximum and my place of solace will be destroyed.

I mean, what's more important?

My pride or my sanity?

I sigh and collapse on the grass.

Right…

I'll look for a pay phone after school.

I close my eyes.

I can't believe I ever thought his eyes were beautiful.


	15. Chapter 15

**Max POV:**

I check the address of the modest two-story brick house in front of me against the scrap of paper in my hand and breathe a sigh of relief.

Finally… the right house.

Nick told me to meet him at this address at 7 o'clock sharp.

It's 7:38.

Needless to say, I'm late. Got a bit (or a lot) turned around. Not that I'd admit it to _him_.

Serves me right for using MapQuest.

I shake off the distracting thoughts and march up the driveway up to the door. Steeling myself I raise my finger to ring the doorbell and-

Suddenly the door slams open and my ears are greeted by a disturbingly high pitched screech.

"YOU MUST BE MAX!"

I look down into the angelic blue eyes of the blonde haired little girl in front of me and nod dazedly.

She smiles an adorable smile and chatters on "Oooooh. Wow. You are sooo beautiful. Fang is sooo lucky."

I blush and open my mouth to correct her when I am interrupted by a deep velvety chuckle. I look up to see Nick as he picks up the little girl and ruffles her golden curls affectionately.

Fang, huh? Interesting.

He quirks his eyebrow and gestures inside.

I gulp and step inside. My face must have betrayed how apprehensive I am because he smirks and gets a mischievous glint in his eyes as he closes the door.

He sets the girl on the floor and she scampers off to God knows where.

He straightens up and intones, "You're late."

Whatever. It wasn't even an hour.

"Yeah, well. I had a bit of a run in with Irish Mob over an incident involving a rainbow and some Lucky Charms- Hey! Did you know they employ leprechauns? Bloody surprise to me. Annoying little buggers…"

I trail off as he snorts and shakes his head. "Follow me."

I glare at him and walk beside him and continue to glower at him as we walk.

He doesn't have to be so untalkative. He could at least tell me what I'm doing here. Not that it's not sexy. A lot of women go for the strong, silent typ- wait.

What the _heck_ am I thinking?

I'm only here because of a _threat_. Not to make cow eyes and think about his surprisingly toned butt.

I mentally slap myself upside my head and follow him into… his room?

"Put your crap down wherever and take a seat."

I do as he says and survey the room curiously. Lazyboy. Couch. Crap all over the floor. Crumpled up papers and notebooks _everywhere_. Hmmm. No bed? Weird.

My train of thought breaks as Nick asks if I want some coffee.

I reply without looking at him. "Yeah. That's fine."

"Cream or sugar?"

"Nah."

"Any particular flavor you'd prefer?"

"Nuh-uh. Anything you have is okay."

I close my eyes and relax into the couch only to bolt back up again.

Wait… coffee?

I quickly look over at Nick, and, no joke, he seriously has a coffee maker out and a suitcase of coffee.

What the h-e-double hockey sticks? Who has a coffee maker in their room?

Well, I do, but it's not like its _normal_.

Whatever- that's not the point. The suitcase of coffee is the frickin' point. What's up with that!? Does _everybody_ have a suitcase of coffee in their room? Is it common?

Does everybody wake up in the morning and pull out their suitcase of coffee and ask themselves "What kind should I have today? Or… should I have _all _of them?" like it's as normal as brushing your hair in the morning?

You know what? Doesn't matter. Does. Not. Matter. Let my prejudices float away like little tiny butterflies. Bye-bye, little buttie-flie.

Uggghhhh.

I am losing my ever-loving MIND here.

The anticipation is killing me- GAH!

Is he going to keep his promise or am I going to go to school tomorrow only to see my face splattered all over the front page of the school newspaper with a headline reading 'Maxine Martinez unmasked as the mysterious lead singer of the popular band _The Angel Experiment_- Extree! Extree! Read all about it!'?

Actually? That wouldn't matter.

Nobody reads the school newspaper anyways.

You get my point though right?

He's just so… rock-like. Like a rock in human form. Mr. Rock.

A mug suddenly appears in my face and I look up in surprise. "Here. Tried to get you a clean cup."

"Uh, thanks."

He nods and sits across from me in his lazy boy with his own cup o' joe.

We drink our respective coffees in a surprisingly comfortable silence until Nick sets his mug down and turns his attention to me.

"So. Before we start, I'd like to get a feel for your strengths and weaknesses in math. I have a worksheet prepared to send home with you so I can get more accurate data, but for today we'll just talk it out."

Wow. That's got to be the most I've ever heard him say at one time. Gotta be a record.

Wait- worksheet?

Is he seriously going to assign me homework?

Crap.

This is going to be worse than I thought.

**A/N**

**Hi~! I'm baaaa~ccck! Did ya miss me? Huh? Did ya?**

**Wow! I didn't wait months between updates this time. Go me!**

**So, you may be asking yourselves what this A/N is about.**

**Reviews! What else could it be about?!**

**I crave reviews. I NEED reviews. **

**Give me feedback. Tell me what color socks you're wearing. Tell me a stupid fart joke.**

**I don't care. Just review.**

**It gives me confidence. :')**

**I **_**know**_** that there are more of you guys reading than there are reviewing. (Handy dandy traffic graph)**

**Anyways! That's it for now! I love you all! (Ooops. I said it first. *blush*)**

**See ya next time!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Fang POV:**

The door shuts behind Max with a click and I let out a small sigh of contentment.

Who would have thought that things would have gone so smoothly?

Honestly, I don't think she would be all that bad at math if someone taught her the right way. She's smart enough, but it's as if something just doesn't _click_ quite right.

Quite the conundrum; definitely something to think about before our next tutoring session.

I smile slightly and turn to go to my room, and as I take a step I bump into something.

I look down with a cold dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach and am greeted by the sight of crazy golden hair, mischievous baby blue eyes, and a knowing smile.

$%# !, Angel!

I frantically smooth my face over into my emotionless façade and quirk an eyebrow at her.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing much. Sooo… that was Max, huh?" Angel asks with an impish smile.

Crap. This is _so_ not what I want to be talking about with my baby sister.

I manage to force out one word while keeping a straight face. "Obviously."

"You should have her over sometime when Mommy is home."

"Mmm."

"Plus, I wouldn't mind playing with her." She looks me over and gives me a devilish smirk. "Hmm. She was really pretty…" she starts as she stares at me, "… hot even."

A small blush steals over my cheekbones and she falls on the chance like fangirls at a Justin Bieber concert.

"Ooooh. So you _do_ think she's _hawt_. H-O-T! Fang and Max, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

I walk quickly to my room and shut my door as my blush deepens.

Jeez.

Here I am, trying to be cool, and my little sister has to make me feel like a 12 year old who just went on his first date.

Okay. Need to calm down.

I search through my crap until I find my storyboards, sketches, Bristol board, various tools, and an inking pen before bringing it all over to my workspace (A.K.A. the makeshift table in the corner).

Call me a traditionalist, but most of my manga is hand drawn instead of drawn using computer programs.

I do 90% of the work before I scan it onto the computer and then just do touch-ups and some toning.

Not there is anything wrong with using computer programs; it's just more my style to use "pen and paper". It conveys more of my _feelings_ about my work.

I've been so preoccupied with Max lately, that I haven't been paying attention to "Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports".

It's high time for a new chapter and my "fans" have been blowing up my comment box asking for updates.

I feel ashamed as an artist, really.

Instead of getting overtaken by my emotions and neglecting my work, I should be channeling them _into_ my work while making my work much more breathtaking in the process.

I shake my head at my own stupidity and start to sift through my sketches for where I want to take my story.

My hands still as they come across the sketches of Molar and "Maximum".

_Yes_. This is the _perfect_ way to combine my feelings for Max with my feelings for "SWOES"!

My hand shakes slightly as I pick up my pen, but I steel myself and then, I start to _**draw**_.

**Max POV:**

I pull out the worksheet Nick gave me with the intent of getting it out of the way as soon as possible, but am soon waylaid by incomprehensible phrases, numbers, and what seems to be some sort of elvish.

Radicals? Matrices? Sequences? Probability statistics? Binomial theorems?

The list goes on and on.

What is this crap?! Is this really math?

What happened to numbers?

I would quite literally rather have bamboo shoots shoved under my nails than do this.

I struggle through the worksheet for 2 hours and I even manage to put down an answer here and there, but I soon reach my limit

I am _so_ done with this.

I push up out of my chair, stalk over to my bed, and scream into my pillow before grabbing my violin and disappearing into my music room.

I can't deal with this right now- Nick (Or is it Fang?), math, The Angel Experiment, _reality in general_.

I can't deal with _any_ of it. I need some serious _me_ time if I'm going to be able to face tomorrow without having a mental breakdown over my cafeteria lunch of grayish meatloaf and unidentifiable brown sludge.

But mostly? I need a break from my _mind_?

Sometimes you are your very own worst enemy, you know?

I finish plugging in all the necessary cords and check all my crap to make sure it's all correct before raising my violin's chin rest to my jaw.

I raise my bow, slide it across the strings, and I begin to _**play**_.

**A/N**

**Sooo? How was it? I tried to update faster because I've been such a bad girl in the past (whoopsie) and who knows when I'll update next? Hahah…**

**Now to get down to business, I have some shout-outs:**

** silverdragon75432—Interesting! I have a pair like that as well! I look forward to hearing about your socks in the future. **

** Everiss K—You are the most awesome reviewer ever. Like, seriously. I 3 you. To answer some questions… Traffic graph is Fanfiction tool that tells me how many views each chapter has (creepy huh?). No, I haven't ever noticed that, but that is really interesting! You seriously don't know any fart jokes? You must have had a deprived childhood. :P**

**GUESS WHAT GUYS!? We are up to 85 reviews! You guys rock! I appreciate your continued support.**

**(p.s. Is it too much to hope for 100 reviews? That's only 15 more… *hint hint*)**

**That's it!**

**And remember: Reviews=Love**


	17. Chapter 17

**Max POV:**

I take a bite of my pepperoni pizza and nod noncommittally at JJ.

She's babbling along about _boys_ again.

_Again_.

Who knows which one she's stuck on this time?

I mean, couldn't we talk about something different for once? Maybe I'd actually participate if it was something I could relate to.

How about the fact that it is virtually impossible to make a bad tasting pepperoni pizza, but our cafeteria still manages to do it? Or about the different pros and cons of violins? Or the-

_Thunk_.

I look up in mild confusion to see Nick's stone like face.

He catches my look, "Yo. Mind if I sit here?"

"Hey._ Sure_, you can sit down, but, hey, it doesn't matter what I think, cuz' _you're already sitting down_."

I roll my eyes and huff while he smirks and opens his Coke.

I continue to eat only to stop again when I hear a strange choking sound. Kind of like a dying cat in a helium filled room.

Apparently, it was actually the sound of a very excited teenager—i.e. JJ. She opens and closes here mouth several times and then stands up abruptly.

"Uh, er—I- I- I'm full. I gotta go to the bathroom, so, um, you guys have _fun_. Yeah. Okay. See you tomorrow, Max? Okeedoke, uh, bye!" she stutters out as she grabs her trash and bolts out.

Weird.

Wonder what her problem is? I shrug and go to take a swig of my apple juice.

Nick raises his eyebrows. "Do I smell or something?" he asks.

I shrug again and fish around in my backpack with one hand while continuing to eat my pizza with the other.

I rummage around for a couple more seconds until I find what I'm looking for and then slide the crumpled piece of paper over to Nick.

He raises his eyebrow.

_One_ eyebrow.

_Damn_. Wish I could do that.

I swallow my mouthful of food and answer his unspoken question, "Worksheet."

Duh.

He nods and takes a bite of his… chili? Eh, it's _something_ lumpy, brown, and semi- liquid.

We sit in silence as we eat and he looks it over with an unreadable face.

After a couple minutes I finish inhaling my humble lunch of: 6 pieces of pizza (I would have eaten more, but they cut you off at 6), overdressed side salad, 3 containers of French fries, an apple, 2 cartons of 2% milk, apple juice, and about a dozen "chocolate chip" cookies.

Ahhhh.

That hit the spot.

I burp contentedly and swipe at the grease on my face with the sleeve of my shirt, and then look up to see Nick staring at me.

I blush.

"What? A girl can't burp? Is it not _allowed_?" I question defensively.

He tilts his head and deadpans, "I give it a 7." with an amused twinkle in his eye.

I gawk at him in disbelief for a second and then burst out laughing. And we're not talking about polite lady-like giggling, here. I'm talking gut-busting, pig snorting, tears running down your face laughing. Nick watches me for a few seconds and then chuckles along with me.

Wait- hold up.

Did Nick—Mr. Rock _himself_ just _chuckle_.

Has hell frozen over? Have the flying pigs come to carry me off to never-never land?

The sheer shock manages to calm me down a couple degrees, and then I proceed to glare at _everybody_, because _everybody_ is gawping at us after my little outburst. And then the whole cafeteria goes back to eating their pitiful lunches while pretending they didn't just see that. Of course they did. Not many can stand up to my death glare—and none of these pansies are included in that select few.

Of course, now there is a totally awkward silence.

I need something to talk about.

What should I talk about?

What? What? What!?

"So… Fang is it?" I inquire, causing Nick to choke and shoot chocolate milk out of his nose.

He coughs and tries to look nonchalant, "Fang? Where'd you hear that?"

Of course, that pitiful act ain't gonna fool me. I'm _on_ to him now.

"When I was over at your house, your little sister called you Fang. Does she always call you that? What'd her name anyways? I feel weird referring to her with 'she' and 'her'."

"Her name is Angel. She's 11."

Trying to avoid the real question here, eh?

"Angel, huh? Certainly fits…"

He nods and relaxes—obviously thinking he's successfully evaded my question.

How about: _no_.

I grin and continue, "… But, why does she call you Fang?"

He stiffens up again and keeps his mouth shut.

"Why?"

"Tell me. Tell me. Tellmetellmetellme. I wanna knoooooow."

Oooh boy, he's screwed now, he's flipped my 'annoying two year old' switch.

"Huh? Tell me. Why? Huh? Why. Tellllll meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-"

He reaches over and covers my mouth with his hand and sighs.

"Fine. Just shut up."

Ha! I win. I lick his hand and he huffs and sits back in his chair.

I look expectantly at him and he groans.

"It's just… when I was a kid, I had these really sharp baby teeth incisors, and, whenever I would get mad, I would bite people and I actually drew blood and left a mark—2 little holes, just like a vampire. And since I was also really pale when I was a kid, combined with the teeth marks, and the dark hair/eyes my parents called me 'our tiny little vampire', which got shortened to 'Fangy' and now finally 'Fang'. It stuck and everyone in my family still calls me Fang."

I snigger.

Aww. How _cute_.

"Hmm. Interesting, Fang."

He growls at me and I stick my tongue out at him.

Deal with it. There is no way you're getting out of me calling you Fang now.

The sound of the bell ringing jolts us out of our little stare down.

I stand up and start gathering my crap when Fang grabs my hand.

"What?" I ask.

"Come over later? Talk about worksheet?"

Jeez. Can't he bother to speak in complete sentences?

"Uh, what day is it?"

He thinks about it for a second and then says, "Wednesday."

"Can't. I have practice today. How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." He states, squeezing my hand before walking off to class.

My chest feels tight.

I couldn't possibly feel like this just because _he squeezed my hand_, could I?

That's ridiculous! As if!

But, somehow, I find myself looking forward to tomorrow.

**A/N**

**Hello my pretties!**

**How was it? Did you like?**

**Let me tell you, I am **_**dreading**_** having to go back to college.**

**Sooo tiring.**

**Anyways.**

**We didn't quite reach our goal of 100 reviews.**

**And that makes me sad. **

**So I'm expecting you guys to review extra to cheer me up, k? XD**

**Now for the shoutouts! Oooh! I'm so excited!**

**DntlessAnnabeth—Yeah, I hate Dylan, so I made him into a girl. Go me~!**

**Silverdragon75342—Can't wait! And, no, I do not play the violin- I just did a tiny bit of research. Glad you appreciated it. **

**FaximumEverdeen—OHMYGOSH! You're back! I've missed you! Love the fart joke. ****Interesting socks. **

**Okay! That's it for today! **

**And remember…**

**Reviews= LOVE**

**And I love you guys!**

**Peace out.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Fang POV:**

"FANG! Get your butt downstairs, please!"

I look at my nearly finished edits on my manga scans and sigh in resignation.

"Yeah, okay mom. Be down in a minute." I call downstairs as I save the document and shut down my laptop before trudging down the steps to the living room where my female parental unit is waiting.

I raise an eyebrow questioningly, "You called, master?"

"Don't take that tone with me young man," she huffs as she pushes her long black hair out of her face, "I don't have the patience to deal with it right now."

I gaze at her expectantly as I wait for her to get to the point.

She hops on one foot as she tries to put on her heels while simultaneously trying to text someone on her blackberry. "Can you make dinner for yourself and Ange tonight? I have to go into work again—I probably won't get back until late."

"Whatever." I exhale as she grabs her purse and car keys.

"Great! Thanks Fangypoo! I owe you one." she calls as she blows me a kiss and walks out the door.

I scoff. Owe me one? You owe me like a million and seventy-three, you old hag.

I mean, I get that she is working her butt off to provide for us being a single mother and all, but she's never home. Angel sees her so infrequently that she might as well not have a mother. Plus, I _hate_ being called Fangypoo—it's so degrading.

I shake my head in exasperation and pull my apron out the cabinet and suit up.

By suit up I mean put on my apron, boots, hook up my iPod, and bobby pin my bangs back.

Okay. Now I'm ready.

"YO! Angel." I holler.

She comes skittering downstairs, slides across the tiled kitchen floor in her bright pink fuzzy socks, and slams right into my chest with a grin.

"Oof." I grunt.

She hugs my waist and beams up at me. "Oooh! Are you making dinner tonight, Fang? Yay!"

I nod and smirk back at her. "Whaddaya want, you little gremlin?"

"CURRRY! Make sure it's really really spicy!"

I chuckle. "Okay, goose. Go wash up and do your homework while I make it."

She giggles and nods before running off- presumably do what I told her.

I'm actually pretty good at cooking. Practice makes perfect, I guess? Ig, is still way better than me—which is weird cuz he's blind, but I can definitely hold my own.

I root through the pantry and fridge and get all my ingredients out, and then I put the rice in the rice cooker to… well, _cook_.

There are, of course, _tons_ of different types of curry, but the kind Angel likes is called 'Rendang' with extra spice of course. It takes roughly 2 hours to make—not that long and definitely worth it.

I glance at the recipe to refresh my memory.

Yeah, no problem. I got this.

I crack my fingers, square my shoulders, and start chopping.

**Max POV:**

I flop down on the beat up couch in Ella's garage and groan.

It's been a looong day.

First, I woke up and accidentally brushed my teeth with lotion. Next, I discovered that there was no food in my house except coffee and a handful of what seemed to be raisins. Then, I had to ride my motorcycle to school in the rain—and of course I was late to class. Following that, I had two pop quizzes that I was unprepared for, and the cafeteria was serving my least favorite lunch item—creamed turkey (I am not kidding) with instant mashed potatoes.

At least band practice went okay, eh?

Anyways… I am totally exhausted.

Suddenly I feel a pleasant cool sensation on my forehead and I whimper in pleasure.

Cracking open my eyes, I see that it is a chilled can of Coke held by our drummer—Maya.

I take the soda gratefully, take a long draw, and nod my thanks at her.

She grins stupidly and falls on the couch next to me and opens her own can of fizzy beverage.

Nudge stares at us and giggles.

"What?" we both ask suspiciously.

She giggles again and spouts, "Nothing, nothing. It's just that, when you look at you two sitting next to each other like that, you guys look really similar. Like sisters or something . Ooh! Or twins. Seriously, though. I mean there is hardly _any _difference. Like Max's hair is dirty blond and Maya's is more brownish (and pink). And Max is tanner and is all toned and athletic while Maya is more round and girly. Well, and the different haircuts and clothes. But other than the superficial details, you guys are like identical! It's totally creepy! It's like, ZOMG!"

Ella and Maya give me strange look.

"Well," Maya starts, "that's weird. Did you guys know that I used to have a twin?"

Nudge and I gape at her. Really? Never would have guessed—and what's with the 'used to'?

"Yeah, I mean. I don't really remember. My mom talks about her sometimes. Apparently, my father was sort of a creep-o and when I was a baby, he took her away and Mom never either of them again. Messed up right?"

I nod in shock. Wow, I guess everybody has some skeletons in their closet, huh?

Apparently that wasn't all though, cuz she continues.

"But, y'know, it's not all bad. Because, when that bastard left my mom, my mom's best friend came and helped take care of me. They fell in love and before they knew it, Mom was pregnant. Years later, they are married and now I have an adorable little sister—Ella!"

Nudge gasps and looks from Ella to Maya and then back again.

"WHAT!? You guys are sisters!? You never told us that! How long were you gonna keep it a secret from us? I never would have guessed! You guys don't really look alike at all! No fair. I'm always the last to know everything." Nudge shrieks and then pouts petulantly.

We all laugh at the stupid look on Nudge's face.

To be honest, though, I'm kinda shocked. I never really got those vibes from them. Huh. Surprise, surprise.

I chuckle and relax back into the couch as the girls continue to bicker.

I smile to myself and close my eyes.

Must be nice to have a mother…

**A/N**

**Hello, darlings~!**

**How was it?**

**By a raise of hands, how many of you are going back to school? **

**WOW. That many, huh?**

**Yeah, it's back to college for me too. Pooh. **

**Random fact: I write while listening to music.**

**And… guess what guys!?**

**WE HAVE SURPASSED 100 REVIEWS! I am so excited, you guys don't even know!**

**You guys are AWESOMESAUCE!**

**Let's do some shoutouts:**

**16craftytigers- Yeeah. I have no idea. But it is coming. I'm trying not to rush. This chapter was supposed to hint at things to come. Don't know if it worked. *sweats***

**Neonenigma— I think so too. It'll happen sometime. Have patience. **

**Silverdragon75432- I appreciate your appreciation. **

**Okay. That's all I have to say today. Who knows when I'll update again what with college and all, bu, I WILL BE BACK! So don't go away.**

**Now, I want **_**lots**_** of reviews, okay? It's how I know you **_**lurve**_** me.**

**Guess what guys?**

**I LOVE YOU!**

**Chao.**

**p.s. Here's the recipe (it's yummy):**

_**1 onion, roughly chopped**_

_**1 tbsp chopped fresh ginger**_

_**1 tbsp chopped galangal (or another tbsp of the above)**_

_**1 tbsp chopped garlic**_

_**1 lemongrass stalk, tough outer layer removed and roughly chopped**_

_**1 tsp turmeric**_

_**6 long red dried chillies, soaked in water and roughly chopped**_

_**2 tbsp sunflower oil**_

_**1 cinnamon stick**_

_**6 cardamom pods**_

_**650g/1lb 7oz braising steak, cut into 2cm/1inch cubes**_

_**4 kaffir lime leaves**_

_**zest of a kaffir lime or lime**_

_**400ml/14fl oz coconut milk**_

_**1 tbsp of tamarind puree or lime juice**_

_**50g/2oz desiccated coconut flakes**_


	19. Chapter 19

**Max POV:**

My body seizes up in pain and a strangled scream chokes out of my throat as I bolt upright in bed.

I pant in confusion and try to catch my breath before flopping back onto my mattress.

God.

Will I always be plagued by memories turned nightmares?

Will I ever forget what that _man_ did?

To me? To _him_?

I inhale shakily and crawl towards the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for school.

Maybe the hot water will help clear my head.

I shudder as the hot water pours down over my head and my tiny bathroom fills up with steam.

I squeeze some of my pomegranate bath gel onto my wash cloth.

_*Red light flashes off a blood stained knife*_

I drop the washcloth as if it bit me.

NO! I can't be thinking about this—I don't want-

_*Twisted laughter and a scream I can't bear to hear—blonde hair tinted red— DEATH- mangled limbs—a broken vase—DEATH- sirens and flashing lights—WHY!?— A desperate struggle—rain pouring down—lightning flashing; thunder roaring—DEATH—DEATH—death-*_

I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER!

NO!

I keen and fall to my knees.

Curling up in a ball, I cover my head with my hands and sob brokenly for what is, and what could have been.

The water beating down slowly turns from steaming to luke-warm to freezing. My body goes as numb as my mind.

…

Thoughts attempt to drift through my head. Nothing really matters.

_School?_

Oh. That's right. I have to go to school.

I stand up woodenly and shut off the water.

I absentmindedly pull on a shirt, shorts, and stuff my feet into my boots not bothering to dry off or comb my hair.

I drift towards the door grabbing my keys and messenger bag along the way.

I arrive at school miraculously in one piece and dazedly sit down in homeroom—putting my head on the desk as I do so.

"Uh, Max?"

I look up dully at my teacher.

"First period is over, Max."

Huh. Really?

"Oh." I mumble as I stand up and shuffle out into the hallway.

Idiot.

I need to snap out of it.

I look around surreptitiously and after verifying that there is nobody around, I walk straight into the brick wall at full force.

Ow.

My mind clears enough to realize that I'm not going to be able to handle school today.

But didn't I say I'd meet Fang today?

I can't handle that either.

I search through my backpack for a scrap of paper and a writing utensil, jot down a quick note, and slip the note through the slats of Fang's locker.

On my way out to the parking lot, I make a quick stop at the nurse's office to get a sick note.

"Excuse me. I don't really feel well. I need to go home."

The nurse is pretty, middle-aged, and familiar looking. She looks up in mild surprise and then gasps.

"Oh, sweetie. Come here and sit down for a sec."

I reluctantly do as she says and she hands me a little cup of ice water.

"What's your name, hun?"

I glance up warily at her and answer, "Max. Uh, Max Martinez."

She gives me a strange look. "Max Martinez, huh? What a coincidence; I'm Dr. Martinez. Is there a number you want me to call? Your parent's maybe?"

"No. I ride to school every day, I can handle myself."

She looks at me in concern. "Are you sure, Max? I have daughters your age, and I sure as heck wouldn't want them driving home in your condition."

I raise my eyebrows. "And what condition would that be?" I ask sarcastically.

"Well, if I may speak frankly?" I nod and she continues. "You look like crap."

I chuckle at her bluntness.

"S'fine, Doc. I'll be A-Okay." I say as I stand.

She wrinkles her brow in doubt and then says, "Fine. At least take some ibuprofen. And when you are feeling better, drop in and say hello, okay?"

I take the proffered pills, throw them back with my little Dixie cup of water, and look her in the eyes.

"Deal."

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stride as best I can to my bike and make my way back to my flat.

Once home, I change into sweats and fuzzy socks, hook up my Ipod, and boot up my computer.

I heat a mug of water in the microwave and stir a little packet of hot chocolate mix into it.

Settling down on my mattress with my cocoa, computer, Ipod, and about a dozen blankets, I pull up "STWAOES" and decide to start again from the beginning.

I am in need of some comfort and fantasy right now.

Scrolling through the pages, I lose myself in this strangely familiar world...

**A/N**

**Hey… Hope that chapter turned out okay. Major hints dropped. **

**Yay! I updated! Gotta love long weekends!**

**I love how everybody was like, "What the frick, Max!? How dumb can you be?" after the last chapter.**

**Hahah. I always thought Max was a little slow regarding relationships—so please don't kill me. **

**First week of college done. I think I may die.**

**Random fact: I have a pair of gloves made to look like tightie-whities that I use to take tests.**

**Shoutouts?**

**Korra kitty— Yeah, yeah. I know. Max is SO slow. The Gasman *is* in the story, but he hasn't really been introduced. He's been mentioned, like, once. He will come in later.**

**NeonEnigma88—Actually, I think it's like $13.52 at *Target*. Big difference. Less weirdos. Oh, and I don't know if you read manga, but I think it's always pretty sexy when the guys pin their hair back with bobby pins. *blush***

**I think that's it…?**

**Somebody review with something funny that happened during your first week/first couple weeks of school.**

**OH! And review this chapter!**

**Um. And. ILOVEYOUGUYS!**

**Bye~! *blush***


	20. Chapter 20

**Fang POV:**

The bell rings shrilly after last period and I shuffle morosely to my locker to put my crap away.

Max didn't show up at all today.

I sigh and dial the combination absentmindedly before yanking the door open.

Something flutters to the ground and I bend to pick it up.

It's a folded up piece of paper with my name scrawled on the front.

I gingerly unfold the note and read it.

* * *

_Hey Fang,_

_Sorry, I'm not feeling all that great. I'm gonna head back to my flat early. Rain check on the tutoring? _

_See ya sometime,_

_Max_

* * *

Damn it.

She is not getting away that easily.

I quickly send a text to my mom saying I won't be back until later before storming to the office and shoving open the door to Mrs. Martinez's office.

She looks up in faint surprise. "Nicholas? What's wrong?"

I stop for a moment and collect and calm myself.

"Nothing really, Dr. M. My friend is sick, and I told her I'd get her homework. Problem is; I don't know her address. I was wondering if you could maybe find it for me."

She looks apprehensively at her file cabinet, "Well…"

"Please, Dr. M?"

"… Fine. But only because I've known you since you were a toddler."

I sigh in relief. "Thanks."

"No problem. What is this girl's name, then?"

I smile slightly. "Max Martinez."

She looks at me strangely for a moment and then opens a file already on her desk.

I wrinkle my brow in confusion and Dr. M catches my look.

"She was in here earlier to get a sick note. She wouldn't let me call for a ride even though she looked like she could barely stand. Honestly, I 'm glad you're checking up on her. I've been kind of worried."

Why wouldn't she have called for a ride? Her parents can't be that busy, can they?

Dr. M scribbles something (presumably the address) down on a post it and hands it to me.

I look it over and nod my thanks before turning to leave.

I stride out to the parking lot and sigh.

It's pouring rain.

Guess what?

I left my top down on my car.

I groan and sprint to where I parked.

Everything is soaked—of _course_.

I get in, quickly roll the roof up, and turn the heaters on full blast.

I grab my gym towel from under my seat and wipe things off as best I can.

Stupid rain.

It was fantastically sunny this morning, so I thought it would be safe to leave the top down.

Guess not.

I bang my head lightly against the steering wheel. Idiot.

Sticking the post it note to the dash, I shift into reverse and back out.

I recognize her address because it is next to one of the best pizza dives in the city.

The Igmeister and I go there all the time.

Their "Meaty Meltdown Extra Cheesy Deep Dish Pizza" is to die for. Like, if I was on death row, I would want a slice as my last meal.

Anyways, it's not too terribly far away if you drive.

I plug in my Ipod (luckily it was in my backpack or it'd be fried to heck) and turn up the volume.

I drive down the road and spot a sign for Wal-Mart©.

Maybe I should stop and get some sick person stuff for Max?

I make a sudden right turn into the Wal-Mart© parking lot and pull into a space.

I make a quick run into Wal-Mart© and grab some canned chicken soup, hot chocolate mix, tissues, ice cream, and a Scott D. Davis CD before getting back on the road.

After 10ish minutes I pull up in front of an apartment complex.

She lives in an apartment?

I check the address to make sure, shrug, grab all my crap, and get out of the car.

Looks like she lives on the second floor.

I climb the stairs, huddle under the little awning thing, and ring the bell for Apt. #222.

I hear clunking and swearing on the other side of the door.

The door opens a crack.

"Yes…?" Max asks cautiously.

I simply say, "Max."

The door flies open revealing a haggard looking Max in sweats.

"What the hell are you doing here, Fang!? How do you even know where I live?"

I shoulder past her into the room and set down the groceries on the first table I see.

I look around the room curiously. Hmm. There is a mattress, a laptop, a table with some chairs, a microwave in the corner along with a coffee maker, mini fridge and some dishes, and another tiny table with crap all over it.

Where are her parents?

What the-

"FANG!" Max screeches, "Answer me!"

I look over at her at her in amusement.

"Heard you were sick. Asked the office."

She growls and glares at me, "God! Can't you even speak in full sentences!?"

I shrug just to annoy her and start unloading the plastic Wal-Mart© bags.

"Got a CD player?" I question.

She rolls her eyes and points towards one of two doors.

I nod and go to stick the Davis CD in.

I open the door and look around in mild amazement.

It seems to be some sort of makeshift music room; complete with Styrofoam, massive speakers, recording crap, and lo and behold, a CD player.

I put the CD in and adjust the volume as a piano version of "Open Arms" begins to play.

I walk back into the main room and pop the lid on the chicken soup before pouring it into a paper bowl and shoving it in the microwave.

Next, I take the ice-cream and shove it into the little "freezer" section in the top of the mini fridge and toss the tissues on the mattress.

Lastly, I pull out 4 packets of hot-chocolate mix, fill 2 mugs with steaming water from the sink, and dump 2 packets of mix in each cup. I notice there are already some discarded hot chocolate packets in the trash. Oh well. One can never have too much hot chocolate.

I grab the soup out of the microwave, stir the mugs, and set down everything on the table.

Sitting down, I look over to see Max gaping at me with her mouth wide open and I smirk.

"Well? You gonna sit down? Or are you going to just stand there and drool?"

She snaps to, stalks over to the table, pulls out a chair, and plops down.

Pushing over a mug and the bowl of soup, I take a swig of out of my own mug.

Ahhh.

That hits the spot.

She looks at the food apprehensively, and I roll my eyes.

"Eat."

She glares at me again, but does what I say.

After she finishes her bowl of soup and picks up her mug, I decide to finally get to the point.

"What's wrong Max? I can't help you if you don't let me in."

She sighs and sets down her mug.

"I know…"

She looks at me with those haunted chocolate brown eyes, opens her mouth, and begins to tell me her story.

* * *

**A/N**

**Jeez. I don't even know where to start.**

**School sucks as per usual. I hate homework. -_-**

**We've hit 150 reviews! Ohmygosh.**

**Loved all of your school stories. **

**I love the sarcasm guys. You were all like, "Max couldn't **_**possibly**_** be Maya/Ella 's sister and Dr. M's daughter." Hahah. Max is soo thick.**

**Shout-outs to do. O.o**

**TotsYourFan—Hahahahaha. That's a good one.**

**Strawwberryz—So many reviews—thanks so much! Let me answer some of your questions. It's batman. ZOMG was a typo in the original books that stuck. It's a Nudge-ism now—it basically means OMG. **

**And...**

**Reviewer of the month:**

**moonshroom420—Thanks for reviewing EVERY FRICKIN' CHAPTER! Time to answer le questions. Iggy had Fang help him out at first, but you know, Iggy is just awesome and learned the layout of the school really fast. No bad experience with a boyfriend—it's gonna be better than that! Your socks sound amazing. Um. Max AND I wish we could raise one eyebrow.**

**Yeah. That's it for now. :3**

**Got any questions about me? Put 'em in a review or PM.**

**Love you guys! Be sure to review, k?**


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